


Under Orders

by RetroactiveCon



Series: Praying That It'll Be You [17]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Consensual Mind Control, M/M, Oral Sex, Verbal Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22335439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: “You’re hard just from this?” He skims his hand down Barry’s slender belly but stops above the waistband of his jeans. “Oh, you do like this, don’t you? I don’t even have to give you any commands. You get off on being controlled like this. On submitting to me like this.”
Relationships: Barry Allen/Hartley Rathaway
Series: Praying That It'll Be You [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562548
Comments: 6
Kudos: 93





	Under Orders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reisho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reisho/gifts).



> I promise I'll write something cute next, but the prompt for 'Barry and Hartley exploring Barry's consensual mind control kink' grabbed me and this happened.

“Um.” 

Hartley sits back. Barry watches him with heavy-lidded eyes, all but pouting about the loss of their kisses. Given that he was the one who spoke, Hartley feels no sympathy. “‘Um’ what, sweet boy?”

Barry bites his lip. Without his glasses, Hartley can only make out a blurry-edged slash of pink, but he knows how Barry’s lips look when they’re well-kissed. It’s enough to make him want to pull his sweet boy into another kiss. “Remember when you gave me my melt trigger and I said being hypnotized kinda turns me on?” 

Hartley raises his eyebrows. He remembers; he wasn’t sure Barry would bring it up again, but it’s something he’s wanted to test. “Yes.”

“I, um, I wouldn’t mind if you used your flute on me. And, y’know. Mind-fucked me while you actually fucked me.” Barry glances down at the sheets. Sweet, bashful boy—he’s so shy about asking for pleasure, as though he thinks he’s doing something wrong. Hartley kisses the tip of his nose. 

“We can do that. How do you want me to do it? Do you want me to get you nice and deep and then fuck you? Or do you want me to take you down, give you triggers, and then bring you back up?” 

Barry squirms. There’s a pretty pink blush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. Hartley wants to chase the path of it with his lips, but not now. He needs to hear what they’re doing first. “You choose. It all sounds good to me.”

Hartley considers. He doesn’t want to give Barry an obedience trigger; it feels too much like stripping away his right to choose, even if he builds in a way to resist at need. A pleasure trigger might be amusing. He could tie Barry up, bring him to the edge just by talking and leave him there until he begs. Then again, he could take Barry down and keep him that way, sweet and blank and too deeply entranced to think of anything but how good it feels to be touched…

“I don’t think I need to do anything to you,” he muses. “You’ve got yourself all worked up already. I think all I have to do is put you in trance and you’ll get yourself all nice and needy for me.” 

To Barry’s dismay, he rolls out of bed, retrieves his flute, and grabs his glasses. If he’s putting Barry in trance, he wants to be able to see his reactions. By the time he returns to the bed, Barry is sitting against the pillows, watching him expectantly. 

“You want me to do this?” Hartley ascertains. When Barry nods, he raises his flute to his lips. “Okay.” 

Within a few bars, Barry’s eyelids droop. Hartley watches carefully for the moment his eyes fall closed. He plays another three bars, just to make sure that Barry is thoroughly entranced; then he sets his flute aside. “How do you feel, sweet boy?” 

Barry smiles and makes a soft, happy sound. Hartley strokes his hair. 

“Too deep to speak already?” Barry makes the same soft sound in response. Hartley chuckles and kisses his brow. “You’re so good for me. You go down so well, like you’re just waiting for me to control you.” 

Barry burrows into the pillows. He’s acting almost entirely on instinct; as far down as he seems to be, Hartley doubts he can form a coherent thought. Just to make sure, he skims his fingertips along Barry’s jaw and coaxes, “It’s so hard to think now, isn’t it? Too hard. It’s easier to just let your mind go blank, to drop nice and deep and trust me to guide you.” 

Barry rolls his hips. It’s the tiniest possible motion—no doubt it’s hard to move—but it draws Hartley’s attention to the bulge in his jeans. 

“You’re hard just from this?” He skims his hand down Barry’s slender belly but stops above the waistband of his jeans. “Oh, you _do_ like this, don’t you? I don’t even have to give you any commands. You get off on being controlled like this. On submitting to me like this.”

Barry is too deeply entranced to feel any shame, but when he wakes up, he’ll remember all of this and he’ll be ashamed. Hartley has learned by now that his sweet boy likes a little humiliation. Still, he doesn’t want to risk turning playful humiliation into genuine embarrassment. 

“I could tell you to do anything and you’d do it. I could give you a trigger that would return you to this state, mindless and aroused and obedient, and you’d beg me to use it. I could choose a word that would make you obey anything I say, even the most humiliating things, and you’d love it, wouldn’t you? You’d love being my good, obedient, naughty boy.” 

Barry keens and lets one of his hands drop down between his legs. He’s not coordinated enough to stroke himself properly, but he grinds against his palm until Hartley grabs his wrist.

“I know, sweet boy. I know it feels good, but you don’t get to touch yourself.”

He guides Barry’s hands up onto the pillows and presses them into the fabric, just lightly. “You’re going to feel like I cuffed your hands in place,” he instructs. Barry moans, a low shivery noise that goes right to Hartley’s cock. “No matter how hard you struggle, you can’t move your hands.” He releases Barry’s wrists, sits back, and says, “Try to move your hands.”

Barry wriggles his shoulders, trying to squirm free of the imaginary cuffs. To Hartley’s amusement, he even vibrates for a second as though trying to phase free. When nothing works, he relaxes back against the pillows with a contented sigh. 

“You like being restrained?” Hartley teases. That’s good to know. He wants to keep teasing his boy, but Barry seems so happy to be ‘cuffed’… “I want you to just stay like this, sweet boy. Just let yourself keep sinking deeper for me. You can test your cuffs as much as you want, but you won’t be able to break free. Whenever you try, it just sends you deeper down and makes you more aroused.”

Barry squirms. If it’s an attempt to move his hands, it’s not a particularly forceful one. Hartley watches in amusement as the punishment, if it can be called that, for struggling takes effect: Barry’s head lolls back against the pillows, mouth hanging open around little happy noises. It’s not long before he struggles again, clearly craving the aftereffects. Hartley waits until he stops struggling altogether, too blissful to remember why he would bother to fight.

“My good boy. Open your eyes for me.”

Barry’s eyes drift open and he stares vacantly up at the ceiling. After a moment, his gaze drifts to Hartley. The lids flutter shut and he forces them open again. 

“Good,” Hartley praises. “You can let your eyes close now, sweet boy.” Barry hums contentedly and closes his eyes. Hartley shifts closer to him, slips a hand up under Barry’s loose shirt, and traces idle patterns on the soft skin of his belly. “You’re still so hard for me, aren’t you? You want me to make you feel good.” 

Barry keens. Even in trance, he’s impatient. Hartley sees no need to rush. 

“You’re so aroused. You’re so, so needy that every little touch…doesn’t matter where it is on your body…brings you closer to orgasm.” He skims his hand up Barry’s chest to rest it at the base of his throat. Barry’s head tips back in an invitation that Hartley can’t possibly accept, not with Barry as out of it as he is. Instead, he traces his fingertips over the sensitive skin just below Barry’s ear. “You’re going to come for me right when I tell you to, sweet boy. Whenever I tell you.”

Barry keens and lets his legs fall open wider. Hartley meant to talk him to orgasm, but another idea occurs to him. To Barry’s dismay, he pulls his hand away. It only takes a second to find a comfortable position on his belly and no time at all to undo Barry’s fly. 

“I’m going to get my mouth on you, sweet boy.” Hartley bites his lip. It’s been a while since he sucked Barry off, and he’d all but forgotten how much he likes the anticipatory rush. He’s tempted to take his time, but no: he’s teased Barry enough. “When I do, you can come.” 

As soon as he takes the head of Barry’s cock in his mouth, Barry gasps breathlessly and comes down his throat. Hartley quashes a flicker of disappointment; he gave Barry permission, and it’s not like this is the last time he’ll have a chance to suck him off. 

“Good boy.” He only pulls back when Barry is done shaking through the aftershocks. For the space of a heartbeat, he considers ordering Barry to reciprocate, but looking at him so relaxed and peaceful destroys that urge. He’s more concerned with caring for his boy than finding his own release. “I’m going to bring you back up now, okay? When I do, all the commands I’ve given you will fade. Nice and slow, starting to wake…you can take your time…”

Barry wakes in fits and starts, which is cute. When he’s fully conscious again, he looks around, wide-eyed and bewildered. “Wow, I feel fuzzy. Like, good fuzzy, but that hasn’t happened before.”

Hartley settles against the pillows beside him and cuddles him. “You went further down than I think you’ve ever gotten before. No wonder you’re a little hazy.”

Barry’s brow furrows. Before Hartley can ask what’s wrong, he demands, “You did it again, didn’t you? Got me off and then just stopped.”

“I didn’t really have a choice. Remember, the flute works for an hour at maximum, and I figured you didn’t want to wake up in the middle of giving me a blowjob.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not entirely true. Barry can tell—Hartley can see it in his eyes—but he doesn’t demand a better explanation. Instead, he flips them over at superspeed. Hartley finds himself pressed into the pillows, Barry between his legs. 

“You want me to do this, right?” Barry checks. 

“Yes, sweet boy.” Hartley tangles his fingers in Barry’s hair and pulls gently. “I do. Just…a little more warning, next time.”

“Sorry.” Barry nuzzles his head into Hartley’s palm as though begging forgiveness. Hartley grazes his nails over the nape of his neck. 

“It’s all right. You know I’d have been just as happy cuddling up to you while you worked through the posthypnotic fuzziness.”

Barry raises an eyebrow and palms Hartley through his jeans. His hips jerk up and he makes a noise that he’ll deny to his dying day. “Really? Because your body seems to have other ideas.”

“Some of us are perfectly capable of suppressing our… _oh.”_ The wet heat of Barry’s mouth blots out whatever thought he was trying to follow. Barry makes a little smug sound in the back of his throat. Hartley yanks on his hair. “Smugness doesn’t become you.”

(In fact, smugness is hot as hell on him. Hartley isn’t going to let him know that, but then Barry’s tongue starts vibrating and Hartley forgets everything except the desperate need for more.)

Hartley’s orgasm leaves him as relaxed and hazy as Barry was under the effects of the flute. He burrows back into the pillows, offers Barry a dazed smile, and says, “You can cuddle me, you know.”

Agreeably, Barry presses alongside him, settles his head in the crook of Hartley’s neck, and purrs like a contented kitten. Hartley pulls him closer, trying to surround himself in Barry’s superhuman warmth.

“You know we never actually undressed.”

Hartley glances down. Yep, jeans, pullovers…still fully clothed. “I liked the thought of making you ruin your clothes, and you’re just impatient.”

Barry narrows his eyes in a playful threat. “You’re horrible. Also why did you change your mind?” 

“You were being so good for me, I thought you deserved a treat,” he admits. “And I like having you in my mouth.” It’s a remnant of his relationship with faux-Wells—he used to love kneeling for him, sucking him off or just holding him in his mouth. He associates that level of submission with danger, but he hasn’t managed to train himself out of liking it. Barry needn’t know that, so he redirects. “You seemed to like being put in trance.”

Barry shivers. “I maybe have more of a thing about being controlled than I thought. I remember everything. I just couldn’t think and it felt _so good.”_ His already-warm skin turns burning hot—he’s blushing. “Knowing that you could tell me to do anything and I’d do it—I’d be happy to do it—I mean, I trust you not to make me do anything bad, and that’s why it was so hot.” 

“So you’d want to do that again?” Next time, perhaps, Hartley will have to give him a trigger to send him back into trance on command. The flute is unnecessarily cumbersome in bed. 

“Yes please. I mean, we don’t have to, but I’d like to.” Barry pulls back just enough to glance at Hartley’s face. 

“We can do that,” he promises. Who is he to refuse his sweet boy such a simple request? 

Barry studies him anew. “Do you like it?”

Hartley bites back his reflexive “Yes.” He likes giving Barry a chance to relax, and he understands all too well the blissful rush of submitting to someone else’s direction. The logical next question—does he like giving orders?—is harder to answer. He thinks of how natural it felt to ‘cuff’ Barry while he was entranced and decides, “Yes, I do.”

Barry burrows back into his arms. “Thank you for thinking about it.”

Hartley almost thanks Barry for considering his pleasure but dismisses the idea as vaguely pathetic. “Give me a kiss, sweet boy.”

Obediently, Barry leans up and kisses him. Hartley discards his glasses, hoping for another lazy make-out session, when Barry mumbles, “…Can we have an after-sex snack?” 

“Yes,” Hartley laughs. He should have seen that coming. “Come on. Let’s go see what we can find.”


End file.
